


Reconnect

by timespacethoughtcontinuum



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/M, Mother's Day, Week 5: Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind, ds9tumblzine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1427989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timespacethoughtcontinuum/pseuds/timespacethoughtcontinuum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tora Ziyal decides to celebrate the Human holiday Mother's Day with the help of Jake Sisko, and they find out they have more in common than one would think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconnect

It’s funny how a lack of things to do could sometimes be more vexing than too much. For as long as Tora Ziyal could remember, life had been one trial after another. She supposed, after spending six years a slave in a Breen dilithium mine, spending a quiet morning drinking red leaf tea in the amicable, if distant company of the other patrons of Quark’s Bar ought to be a tremendous relief. Indeed, there were so many people on this very station who had been through much worse, and yet they boldly carried on, etching a life out for themselves where they could. The Bajoran shopkeepers and station workers all seemed to have a sort of liberated _purpose_ about them, so perhaps it was strange that Ziyal should feel her purposelessness now, more strongly than ever before.

She let out a soft breath of air and sipped her tea. It wasn’t like her to feel ungrateful; maybe it was the cool air of the station that was making her so melancholy.

“You’re not even looking at it!”

“Yes I _am_ , just give me a second.”

The small altercation drew the young woman’s attention to the two young men of about her age who were passing through the bar. The shorter one, a Ferengi cadet judging from his uniform, was hastily scanning through a PADD while the other, taller Human, tailed after him. Before the end of the bar, the Ferengi seemed to finish and paused to try to hand the PADD over to his companion, giving with it a sort of ambivalent nod.

“It’s… good.”

“ _Good?_ Did you even read it?”

“I skimmed it. The spelling was fine.”

_“Skimmed it?!”_

In the face of the other’s indignation, the Ferengi gave the sort of long-suffering look that Ziyal found she only observed in close, long-time friends.

“Jake, I’m on duty in _15 minutes_.”

“And it takes like two minutes to get to Ops and less than five to read my story,” The Human countered, and, as if pre-empting any further objections, added with certainty, “I _know_ how fast you can read, Nog.”

That tactic didn’t seem to work, however, as the young Ferengi merely pushed the PADD back into his friend’s hands and said firmly, “Find someone else.”

Ziyal watched as Jake slumped heavily into a nearby chair after his friend departed, and half-heartedly flipped through whatever was on the PADD himself. So she _wasn’t_ the only one on the station who was felling less than chipper today. As terrible as it was, misery did enjoy company, and it was an awful relief to know that she wasn’t the only person sitting gloomily at a table by themselves because everyone else had more productive things to do.

She didn’t realize that she was staring over at the Human until his gaze met hers. She blinked quickly and broke eye contact, self-consciously staring down at her tea. Despite living on the station for quite a while now, Ziyal hadn’t actually interacted with many Humans, besides, of course, Dr. Bashir. She wasn’t sure how rude it was to be caught staring like that. There was a short beat and then the young man hopped up from his table and began heading over. Ziyal felt herself tense a bit in anticipation, unsure what to expect, but was surprised anyway when she was enthusiastically greeted.

“Hey, hi! I’m Jake Sisko. You’re Ziyal, right?” Ziyal just blinked and nodded, just registering that _Sisko_ was the name of the station’s captain and that this must be his son, before the young Human continued on, “It’s nice to meet you, are you busy?”

It was said almost as one sentence, quick and excited, even more so compared to her so-far somewhat withdrawn responses. She glanced down at her table, and her nearly-empty mug, and perhaps thought about her completely eventless day, before settling on the very truthful answer, “No.”

This, apparently, was just the answer this Jake Sisko was hoping for, because he immediately broke into a bright smile.

“Great!” He said, turning a chair from a nearby table and plopping down on it, before offering her the PADD he’d been sulking about before. “Would you mind reading this and telling me what you think?”

“What is it?” She asked cautiously, not taking the PADD right away.

“It’s a short story. That I wrote. I’m a writer.” The last part was said with not very subtle egoism, and apparently her skepticism showed on her face because the more smug expression the Human was wearing faltered and was quickly replaced by a more pleading one.

 _“Please?_ I really need another opinion on it, it’s _very_ important.”

Although she thought of asking _why_ exactly this was important, the hopeful look in his eyes tugged at her conscience a bit, and so she instead reluctantly took the PADD and began to study it. Well, she supposed she _was_ just lamenting over a lack of things to do.

To her immediate surprise, the story wasn’t the sort of amateur writing which she, admittedly, sort of expected. It was good composition, deep and meaningful, if a bit unrefined – and she was beginning to feel a bit nervous that she wasn’t going to have much constructive to say about it. Her knowledge of literature was still rather limited, despite Garak’s frequent attempts to educate her.

But, supposedly this was _important_ , so she had to at least _try_.

Focusing on what she knew, she listed off as many beneficial critiques as she could about the work. Stronger wording, a more natural flow to the sentences; keeping a firmer grasp of the elements of the story so that some things didn’t seem to lead off into dead ends; and then there was the overall theme of the story. She liked the theme, really, it seemed to be a _reconnection_ of sorts – losing something, or someone, and then gaining it back in a different way. It could do to be a little more _subtle_ , but the message itself was pure and powerful.

It took a few seconds of stunned silence for Ziyal to consider that _maybe_ that kind of literary critique was not one you said to the _actual writer_. She supposed that Garak would not have considered such a situation to come up too often.

“I’m sorry, was that not what you wanted?” She asked contritely.

This seemed to snap the human out of it, and he shook his head vigorously.

“No – I mean, yeah. _No_ , that’s _just_ what I needed.” He said, before retrieving his PADD from her once again, and scanning through it with a critical eye.

Watching him, she thought it would be best to add, “It was a beautiful story.”

And it was, honestly. Even with the flaws she noted it was an intensely touching story in a way that almost felt _personal_. The Human was quite gifted.

“Oh, thanks.” And Jake actually did seem a little embarrassed now, which was an interesting look on a man who had so brazenly approached her just a few minutes ago.

“What is it for?” She asked, curiously.

“Mother’s Day.” He answered, and then at what must have been a blank look on her part, he elaborated, “It’s a Terran holiday, celebrating mothers. Er, well I guess any maternal figure, in this case.”

“In this case?” She echoed, thinking of the story, and now seeing it transform slightly in her mind to include the idea of a _maternal figure_. A second mother?

“In my case.” Jake said instead, and Ziyal looked over to see him shrug weakly. “My mom was killed seven years ago at the Battle of Wolf 359. By the Borg.”

Ziyal didn’t know what the Borg was, or the battle Jake was referring too, but she could sympathize with the loss of a mother. It was about that long ago as well that her own mother, Tora Naprem, died in the Breen attack on the _Ravinok._

“Anyway, usually I’d just celebrate with my dad, as a family – but _this_ year we have Kasidy.”

The Human’s demeanor lifted slightly after saying that, and he looked back to his story with a smile that probably wasn’t directed at the actual words.

“So, I thought I should do something special, you know? To show her I appreciate her being around and _actually_ dating my dad. That’s why it has to be _just right_.”

Ziyal nodded quietly, a little lost in her own thoughts. She thought back to the story again, and the character she now understood to be a second maternal figure, someone who filled in a missing piece, not quite the same but someone that could be looked up to anyway. Someone to feel connected to.

Ordinarily she wouldn’t think she had any place celebrating a holiday called _Mother’s Day_ , but from Jake’s description, and his lovely story, then perhaps…?

Unfortunately, her silence was misinterpreted by the Human, and Jake grimaced self-deprecatingly.

“Okay, so, waaay too much information there, Jake.” He muttered to himself, stretching back.

“No, not at all!” Ziyal responded quickly, and maybe a bit too loudly. She settled and then continued a little more reasonably, “I think it’s sweet. It sounds like a wonderful holiday.”

Jake didn’t seem to have anything to say to that, so he just smiled and shrugged, and went back to fiddling with his PADD, likely beginning to re-work his story.

She supposed she had better ask now, before it became inconvenient for him.

“Is it… alright for non-Terran’s to celebrate?”

The Human appeared to consider it briefly, and then quickly shrug it off. “Sure, I don’t see why not. It’s open to anyone who wants to celebrate it.”

Oh, that was _perfect!_ She felt herself smiling, overly pleased that this wasn’t something that would be barred from her. It felt especially _right_ , and certainly it would give her something to do with all her free time.

“When is it?”

“Tomorrow.”

_“Tomorrow?!”_

That was _definitely_ too loudly. Jake startled slightly, then fidgeted, his dark skin just barely showing a deep flush.

“I’m, uh, running a bit late with this one.”

He looked positively chastised, but Ziyal’s mind was too busy racing to spare the effort to reassure him. The sudden deadline unnerved her. She wasn’t a procrastinator; she preferred to work on things well in advance and at a steady rate over a long period of time, with allowances for correction and revision. But with less than 26 hours to learn about and create a Terran Mother’s Day celebration of her own, what was she to do?

“What do I do?” She ended up voicing aloud. “Do I still have enough time to celebrate it if I start now?”

“What? _Oh_. Yeah, yeah, it’s good.” He answered appeasingly, catching on to her problem. He gestured vaguely with his PADD, “Mostly you just make something nice as a gift. Like a card or something? Or, do you know how to make anything?”

Ziyal thought for a moment, at first absolutely sure she was going to come up blank, but then she remembered. “Maybe...”

She quickly excused herself from the table, much to the Human’s surprise, and swiftly crossed the Promenade to where some of the general replicators were. If she was lucky, which she generally wasn’t, she thought she might just have enough replicator credit to get what she needed.

She could have cheered when the replicator did indeed produce just what she requested: a foldable easel, a painting palette, several small tubes of cyan, magenta, yellow, black and white acrylics, a few other supplies, and a large clean canvas.

“You know how to paint?”

She jumped slightly at the unexpected sound, and turned to see that her young Human friend had tagged along. She shook her head, noncommittally.

“I _used_ to know.” She frowned, and then murmured, “Then again I was _twelve_ …”

This admission didn’t seem to faze Jake in the slightest. “So, where’re you gonna set up?”

Ziyal blinked. That was a good question. She supposed maybe somewhere along the Promenade, though the place was often crowded and noisy. And she really didn’t like the idea of a lot of people watching her try, and perhaps fail, to paint. The best choice would probably be her own quarters then, although it would be a little cramped…

Seeing her indecision, the writer quickly cut into her thoughts,

“Okay, look, how about this: you can use my living room to set up, since it’s a pretty decent size, and I’ll tell you _everything_ you need to know about Mother’s Day,” The proposal had the tone of a deal, and so Ziyal patiently waited for the other half of it. Right on cue, Jake grinned and held up his PADD, “ _If_ you keep helping me critique my story.”

That seemed a pretty fair bargain. She was eager to see this through correctly, and so more information was always a plus – though it was only fair to warn, “I’m really not that great at critiquing.”

“Well, you’re better than most people.” Jake scoffed, looking off to where his Ferengi friend had disappeared to moments ago, and giving that same long-suffering look she’d observed on the other. It almost made her laugh.

Jake seemed to take this as a good sign and grinned again. “Deal?”

After just one more moment of hesitation, she nodded. “Alright.”

The walk to section M of the Habitat Ring was uneventful, with Jake carrying her canvas so she could manage the easel and paints a bit easier. He was still rather engrossed in going over his story, even as he walked, and Ziyal was sure he was going to run into a wall somewhere or another. But, to his credit, they arrived outside his door without any such accidents.

He was about to open the door for the both of them, when suddenly he stopped. “Oh, wait. Uh…”

He looked back at her briefly, and seemed to get a little flustered, before apparently coming to a decision. “Just give me _two seconds_.”

That was a very odd expression, though Jake had already slipped into the room, door swishing closed behind him, before she could question it. So, she was left staring at the young man's door for what was _definitely_ longer than two seconds, listening to the occasional sounds from inside with no little amount of concern. She felt kind of silly, standing awkwardly outside this young man’s door, holding her small easel and bag of acrylics, and she probably would have considered _leaving_ if Jake hadn’t thoughtlessly carried her canvas inside with him. She thought it was unlikely that she would get another out of her credits without recycling something else.

Fortunately, she needn’t make such a sacrifice, as the doors suddenly swished open to reveal the Human, smiling and strangely winded.

“Okay! Come on in.”

She entered a bit cautiously, unsure of what exactly that was all about – but as far as she could tell it was an ordinary double room quarters. The young man obviously had a roommate, judging by the odd juxtaposition of items around the room, but it had a nice, homey feel to it.

True to his word, Jake’s living room _did_ have ample space for her easel and canvas, which she set up facing counter to the Human, who’d taken up position on his couch to revise his story.

They worked in surprisingly comfortable company after that. Ziyal mapped out very carefully in faint lines what she planned, slowly correcting and changing the pattern of line as the ideas formed in her mind. Meanwhile, Jake was more or less fulfilling his side of the bargain, describing Earth’s Mother’s Day in nostalgic detail, when he wasn’t too focused on his work to speak, and Ziyal asked questions in the intermediary as well. The holiday incorporated things like breakfast (traditionally in-bed), flowers, cards, gifts (homemade), and general displays of affection and appreciation. Though, Jake mentioned, the day could be celebrated in a number of personal ways, specific to your own situation.

Quite naturally, then, more specific examples where brought up. Apparently, in the Sisko family, Mother’s Day meals were not limited to breakfast, but were, in fact, an entire _series_ of spectacular courses throughout the day, which Jake insisted he had some hand in. Ziyal found she had as hard time believing that as she did imagining the station’s (rather intimidating) captain baking a pie – though Jake assured her that what was _really_ unbelievable was how good it tastes.

Though Jennifer Sisko was gone now, the annual meals had stayed. For the years onward the Sisko men had prepared her favorite meals in her honor, and spent the day in jovial remembrance, recounting their memories of her. Over the years Jake slowly began to shift the honoring to his father, for taking up both positions during such an important part of his life, and now Kasidy was being welcomed into that celebration as well. Still, Jake would never forget his mother, and he was glad the memories were now more fond than painful.

Although they were quite a ways off of the original topic of conversation now, Ziyal found herself regaled by the tales of a young Jake and his mother on-board the _Saratoga._ Jake’s mother had been clever, brave, and occasionally mischievous, taking her adolescent son out of classes at times to have him tag along with her and her science division crewmates when there was something particularly fascinating to see – all right under the nose of the ship’s first officer, one Mr. Sisko.

“And she just said ‘ _don’t_ tell your dad’, and he _still_ doesn’t know, to this _day_.” Jake was laughing, looking fondly down at his writing PADD like he could see his mother’s face reflected in the screen. “She was _always_ doing stuff like that.”

Ziyal was quiet for a moment, not quite sure what to say. Jake was far more talkative than she was, which made sense considering what a great storyteller he was. It wasn’t that Ziyal was unfriendly, or even unsociable, she just never found it in herself to really talk about anything important – least of all herself. Not to her father, or Garak, or even Nerys. But, perhaps the atmosphere was particularly right, or maybe painting was just making her nostalgic, because all at once she found she did have something to say.

“I never really did much when I was little. I usually had to stay inside to hide, um, you know…” She faltered, trailing off and gesturing vaguely at herself. She knew she was quite clearly a Cardassian/Bajoran hybrid, and that, at the time it was important to keep her existence a secret. She hadn’t known why then, but she did now. After a moment she continued,

“But my mother was almost always with me, and she always made sure I had something to do, or something to learn. She was the one who encouraged me to paint; showed me how to use color and line to create something new.” She continued, looking down at the fragile beginning stages of the artwork in front of her and remembering her mother.

“She sounds really nice.”

“She was.” She said, and then she smiled, and she knew that Jake understood what she meant.

After a while the conversation faded away as they both focused on their individual projects, though occasionally Jake would ask what phrase sounded better. Ziyal had begun to use the acrylics now that she had a good foundation to start with, and she was relieved and gratified to find that painting came as easy to her now as it had when she was a young girl. She took it as a sign that she was doing the right thing.

Eventually, though, the constant work became a bit too tedious and Jake called for a break. He stood up, stretched and then headed over to the section of the rooms that appeared to be a kitchen.

“Are you hungry?”

Ziyal was slightly surprised by the question, but answered anyway, “Oh, sure.”

“Great! What would you like?” He asked, clearly enthusiastic about this as well. “I’ve been told I make a pretty mean hasperat.”

By now she had set down her paints and followed him into what was _definitely_ a small kitchen.

“You _really_ can cook?” She didn’t really mean to sound so incredulous – he had mentioned an ability to cook, repeatedly – but she supposed she’d gained a bit of a cultural bias. Though she had not spoken to many Cardassian women in her life, what she’d gotten out of some of the conversation was that males tended to overcomplicate simple things, and generally didn’t have the head for the sciences, of which cooking was sometimes included. Though their words were a tad more discourteous (typically jokes on how long it would take a male to accomplish a simple task – the answer usually being _months_ ).

Jake however seemed completely unfazed by her remark and grinned.

“ _Every_ Sisko can cook – it’s in our genes.” He assured her while washing his hands. “I can make anything – as long as it doesn’t involve chopping up too many vegetables… or scrubbing any clams.”

He made a face at the last part, which made her laugh, although she didn’t actually know anything about clams. Still she answered back with a slight smile.

“What a shame, I was _just_ craving chopped vegetables and scrubbed clams.”

“Nope. No way.”

She was, of course, perfectly alright with hasperat, and while Jake was replicating the ingredients he would need she carefully scrubbed the paint from her hands. As she did, her mind wandered to a different dish that her mother used to make for her when she was very young, that she’d not been able to recreate on her own.

“I used to know a recipe for hasperat soufflé.” She mentioned aloud on impulse, turning to look at Jake who seemed quite interested. “I could never quite make it rise.”

“Oh, _I_ can get a soufflé to rise.” Jake said, and it was obviously a boast. For some reason Ziyal felt very pleased about that, and happily told the Human the additional ingredients he would need to get to make the more complicated dish.

As it turned out, Jake was, in fact, an excellent cook. A far better one than she could have expected – though, as a bit of consolation, he apparently had been underestimated in this area before. The meal was delicious and nostalgic on Ziyal’s part, and they managed to get through most of the extremely spicy Bajoran dish (along with generous, cooling gulps of kava juice and a particular kind of milk) before they were both full.

The conversation drifted to numerous topics then, things to do around the station, and places they’d been. Ziyal told Jake a bit about the few months she’d lived with her father on Cardassia Prime. She mentioned that she had rather missed hasperat prepared locally, and that it didn’t really seem like she had quite the same sense of taste as most Cardassians, as there were many dishes there that were either far too subtle or too bold for her, though there were some that she liked. Jake commented that he’d never tried to make any Cardassian recipes before, and Ziyal warned that they were all very challenging. Jake responded that he enjoyed challenges, and Ziyal smiled into her juice cup.

Soon, though, the two were back to work, and a few hours later, Ziyal was putting the finishing touches on her painting. Meanwhile, Jake, lying on the couch and tapping purposefully on his PADD, suddenly stopped and sat up, a triumphant look on his face.

“There! I think that’s it!”

“You’ve finished?” Ziyal questioned, looking around her own work to see.

“Yeah! Should I read it? So you can keep…?”

He waved a hand generally at her canvas, though he couldn’t see what was on it, obviously not wanting to interrupt her painting. It wouldn’t have been much of an interruption, she was nearly done anyway, but she thought she would rather have him read it to her than get it off the PADD, and so she motioned for him to go on, “Yes, of course.”

She found that she was _very_ glad to have made that decision. Jake had a lovely reading voice in general, but reading his own story in-full seemed to bring out a more theatrical side to him, and the raised and lowered syllables he vocalized in his work gave the telling a more exciting feel than merely reading it onscreen. That was to say nothing of the work _itself_. Despite having read the first draft of the story already, and having many of its individual sentences re-read and revised out loud in front of her, it seemed as if the tale was truly taking shape for the first time.

He had taken all of her critiques to heart, and it showed in the final product. Elements of the story that had been only faint shadows in the original work, shined now as brilliant themes and pure expression. Clearly now, the allusions to motherhood could be seen, but it was more than that as well. It was about love and loss, fear and courage, hope and remembrance - and opening up to love again. Reconnection to things lost. It was strongly worded and deeply touching and when Jake asked her what she thought, she could only reply simply, and honestly.

“That was beautiful.”

“Really? No corrections?” The writer asked, playfully, pleased with himself.

Of course, she couldn’t really let him get away with _that_ , so she reeled in her emotions expertly and affected a shrewder look, _“Well…”_

She watched in amusement as the young man’s face fell, obviously concerned now that perhaps he _wasn’t_ finished. But she couldn’t keep it up for long, and her face eventually broke into a smile, “I’m only joking, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Less than a few minutes later, Ziyal could finally put the cap on her paints as well. “Done!”

“Can I see?” Jake asked from the small kitchen where he’d gone to get another glass of milk.

Ziyal stood back a little and just looked at her work for a moment. She hadn’t really been sure about starting this project. It had been so long since she’d tried anything like this, not since her mother died, and she’d been especially reluctant to let anyone else see her work – but now, looking at it, she felt proud, like Jake did with his story, and she _wanted_ someone to see it. She wanted to show it, _especially_ to the one who inspired it – but until then she was more than happy to let her new friend see it. Smiling, she waved Jake over to her side of the canvas to see her work for the first time.

“Oh, _wow_.” Was his first reaction, which was probably a terrible boost to her ego, but she couldn’t help but be pleased anyway. “You’re really _good_.”

The young man continued to gaze at the painting, awestruck, and once again Ziyal found herself adopting a cold expression.

“Is it _that_ surprising?” The cool tone pulled the writer out of his daze and back into reality quickly, and he sputtered quickly.

“What? No! _No_ , I-” He caught her eyes, frowned, and then rolled his own. “You’re _messing_ with me again.”

Ziyal smiled charmingly and then looked back at her painting, trying to see it from an outsider’s point of view.

“It seems _similar_ , doesn’t it?” She said eventually. “I mean your story and my painting. They’re two separate works of art, but, in a way, the meaning is the same. I think art is made to express, and exorcise, feelings and… doubt.”

After a moment Jake nodded, “Yeah, that sounds familiar.”

There was a long pause then, as Ziyal packed up her equipment and recycled all but her artwork and it’s covering back into the replicator, where it seemed that neither of them had anything else to say. It was odd that this was a more awkward silence than any of the other long silences they’d shared today – maybe because it was more _expectant_. They were both done with their projects now, what next?

After a few seconds of this, Ziyal decided to finally break this silence, and was surprised when Jake spoke up at the exact same time.

“I should-”

“So, do-”

Immediately Ziyal wished she hadn’t said anything, and hoped that Jake would finish his thought, whatever it was, but the Human motioned for her to go on, and there wasn’t anything left for her to do but continue,

“I should probably go, it’s late afternoon already. Nerys is probably wondering where I’ve _been_ all day.”

“Oh yeah, my dad too. He gets all huffy if I don’t stop by. You should’ve seen him when I moved out.” He rolled his eyes. “He thinks I’m _pulling away_ from him.”

Ziyal laughed, “Now that sounds like _my_ father.”

“We _probably_ shouldn’t tell them that.” Jake smiled back.

For a moment there was silence again, and this time Ziyal waited until Jake broke it himself, “ _So_ …”

Suddenly, the door to the rooms opened with a loud _whoosh,_ and the young Ferengi cadet from this morning marched in.

“Alright, Jake, I am back and I promise to _really_ read your - ”

The shorter man stopped, mid-sentence, once he saw her. “Oh. Hi.”

“Nog!” Jake exclaimed, about as equally surprised as his friend. He quickly recovered though, and hastily made introductions. “This is Ziyal. Ziyal, this is my roommate, Nog.”

“Hello.” Ziyal greeted, giving a short sort of awkward wave. “I’m just about to leave…”

“Right, I’ll walk you to the door.” Jake added, and they both headed for the exit, while Nog just seemed to shake his head bewilderedly.

Ziyal paused outside the door to Jake’s quarters and turned to thank him, holding her newly created painting in its protective covering under her arm.

“Thank you for having me over. And for lunch and all the Mother’s Day information.” She smiled. “It was nice.”

“It was nothing, it was the least I could do for such a good Beta reader.” Jake replied casually, though she could see the slight flush of his cheeks. “You know if you ever want to do this again sometime…”

From somewhere behind him, they heard Nog call out incredulously, “Jake, did you _actually_ clean your side of the room?”

Jake’s expression now was absolutely comical and Ziyal couldn’t help but grin up at him. She shrugged a little, just slightly mimicking his behavior, and replied, “I’ll be around.”

She was just turning to leave when Jake called out to her, “Hey!”

She looked back to see Jake motioning toward her parcel, getting a quick last word in. “She’s really going to love it.”

Ziyal was surprised at first, and she considered asking him to clarify what he meant. But then she realized that it didn’t really matter, because _she_ knew, and so she just smiled and continued on.

Walking back to her own quarters with her painting, Ziyal thought back on her day. At the beginning of it she had no reason to expect that the next few hours were going to be spent in such interesting company, or that she would recover a lost talent like she did. She held the covered canvas in her hands and smiled. Her mother taught her how to paint, it was a _gift_ , and she’d thought that after she died she’d never get the opportunity to pursue this gift again. But now she was here, back on the station and surrounded by people who had made their own opportunities out of nothing, and _that_ was a gift as well. Given to her by someone she had the upmost respect for, and she was sure now, absolutely positive in a way she realized she hadn’t been before, that Tora Naprem would approve.

Perhaps it was time now for Tora Ziyal to find her purpose.

She smiled to herself as she walked through the halls of the Habitat Ring, thinking to herself that she should try to make hasperat soufflé again tomorrow.

On her canvas, beneath the first piece of art Ziyal had created in over seven years was a simple dedication: _To the woman who helped reconnect me to a part of myself I thought was lost,_

_Kira Nerys_

_Happy Mother’s Day._

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Jake and Ziyal, I hope I did both of them justice. I'm trying to relearn how to finish stories again, which I've been having trouble with. Please leave a comment if you liked it, or if you have and constructive criticism you would like to add. Thanks for reading!


End file.
